


like pure lines

by magisterequitum



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-11
Updated: 2012-10-11
Packaged: 2017-11-16 03:01:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/534755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magisterequitum/pseuds/magisterequitum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They each have something the other wants, though neither are quite paying attention to the negotiations; negotiation as foreplay. Set post 3.22.</p>
            </blockquote>





	like pure lines

“And how am I to be sure that you will give the stake to me?” Elijah asks and raises an expectant brow, an invitation for her answer.

Elena stays silent, looking instead of answering, watching and assessing. Her eyes are narrowed, taking in all that she can see now due to her enhanced abilities. The way that Elijah sits on her window seat, reminiscent of months and months ago when he’d tricked his way inside her home through a lie; a sudden pang of sadness hits her with the thought of Jenna, but she pushes it away to replace it with a different emotion, a shuffle of the cards till she plucks a new one from the deck.

He seems too big for her room, his shoulders a long horizontal line cut in expensive cloth, the darkness of his suit and burgundy tie in contrast to the light colors of her bedroom. There’s the tick in the strong curve of his jaw as he waits for her answer. From where she sits on the end of her bed she can see the different hues that make up his irises’ distinct shade of brown, lighter than her own, but still nearly shifting to black at certain angles.

She finds her voice, smoothing down the bottom of her dress, one foot lifting by her toes out of her heel. “You don’t.”

He dips his head just a fraction, a tiny nod to her answer. There’s an indulgent curl to his mouth as if he’s proud. He leans forward, the fabric of his suit pants pulling across his knees. “You don’t have it do you?”

His tone of voice shifts now, to something deeper, more of a rolling bit that falls off his tongue, none of that clipped and measured speak he uses on others. He’s comfortable here in her bedroom, here with her in their dealing.

A hunger clings to the roof of her mouth. It has nothing to do with the blood bag downstairs on the second shelf of the fridge and everything to do with how her fingers itch to press against his throat as he speaks to see if she can feel that vibration, capture that languid purr for her own. She bites down so that her molars grind together. “No, but I can get it. In return for your promise to take your family and leave, I will get it.”

Elijah holds her gaze and when he asks, “You would trust us with it?”, there’s nearly something that sounds like amusement there.

Elena’s response is quick. “No. But I trust you.”

Satisfaction blooms inside her as the carefully crafted expression on his face falters for the first time since he’d appeared in her room after she’d invited him to talk. She keeps further words of how she believes he wants a family just as much as she holds Jeremy and the others tight to her, how she knows he can make them listen. She’s not so cruel yet to use that.

Elijah looks away for a moment, giving her his sharp profile backlit by the reflection of it from the glass of her windows. She inhales unnecessarily as he turns back to her. He touches one thumb to his index finger, rubbing the tips together, tone inquisitive as he says, “And what is to keep me from simply taking it from whichever Salvatore holds possession of it?”

“You won’t.” She doesn’t say either that neither of them have it on them, that it’s been hidden away, for safekeeping of course.

His lips quirk, again a silent indulgence against her certainty as to his actions. “How do I know you are not lying?”

Elena watches the way his throat works, the stretch as he releases his question into the stagnant air of the room. She shrugs. “You don’t.” Once he’d told her that her heartbeat gave her away, and she wonders now if he can still discern its patterns in the slow beat of its undead rhythm. She thinks it doesn’t matter. Neither of them seem to be focusing on the words they’re saying, instead tracking the movements and manners of the other.

Silence stretches between them like tacky putty, pulling out in strings that seem to trace all the different encounters they’ve had since their initial meeting, the lies and truths and actions all adding up to coalesce once again in this moment here.

That hunger rises up inside her again. It sits low between her legs as her thighs shift on the bed, the feel of her comforter suddenly scratchy and uncomfortable. If she could still blush properly she would at the way his eyes follow the movement. He can’t read her heartbeat but he can read other reactions from her body. She’s aware then that if she can sense her own excitement, then there’s no way he can't either.

She stands then, rises quickly before she can rethink, acting on pure want and feeling, and she lifts fully out of her heels this time. Her steps are careful and slow, but she walks from the bed to him till her toes brush against his polished shoes, yellow nail polish touching shiny leather. From her lowered height sans heels, her calves hit his knees and up close, so much closer, she’s struck by every facet of his face that she can see.

Elijah watches her, still and unmoving, face blank. He’s a statute now, perfect in his suit and carefully crafted image of the well put together human. Only he’s not.

Elena wants to wreck him. Wants to make him feel as unbalanced as she is, wants to draw from him answers to if he’s feeling exactly how she is in this moment.

She speaks to break the pause. “You don’t know, but that doesn’t mean you won’t.”

His hand moves then, rises and settles on the bend of her waist, his thumb tight against her hipbone through the dress she’d worn to the Lockwood function hours before. An anchor, but she’s still above him, looking down.

Later, she’ll try to come up with a more dignified description of what follows. What she keeps in her diary, what she writes down, will not quite match to the raw memory she builds now. But then there’s no real better way to say she climbed into his lap than to just say so.

She wants to and so she does. Bends her knees so she can straddle him, pulled down and encouraged by the slide of his hand up her waist to the underside of her breast, and then she’s seated atop him where he sits on the window seat. One hand goes to rest against the window, palm flat, cool glass a sharp relief to the rest of her heated body, and the other to his hair as she pulls him to her mouth. He’s incapable of being moved against his will, steel bones wrapped in human skin, but he goes all the same, mouth sharp and open under hers. Their kisses are harsh. He should not be surprised to find her already wet beneath her dress, smell and the way she grinds her hips down a dead give away, but he makes a pleased sound from behind his teeth as he reaches between them that makes her grin.

Elena comes with his fingers inside her, two curved upwards and his thumb pressing harshly against her clit, his mouth biting the jut of her collarbone where her dress doesn’t cover. She watches their reflection in the window as her mouth drops open as he works her through her orgasm, her other hand fisted and hold his head in place.

There’s a lick to her bitten skin and a puff of air as he exhales, “We did not come to an agreement.”

She grins, still looking out the window. His cock’s still hard beneath her and the room smells of her release. “Well,” she says, shifting on his lap and his fingers are still in her. “We’ll just have to start over.”


End file.
